[pshrynk]

Harv flipped a few random switches as the engines warmed up.

"Let's do the check list, Viv."

"Okay. The standard, 'We actually give a crap about this' checklist, or the 'We're just flying down to the beach for an afternoon of frolicking, so screw this' checklist?"

Harv looked up contemplatively. "Well, we're flying to Mexico city from Panama city to rescue Vera from whatever it is that she's gotten herself into this time and we have an actual paying passenger, so I guess it should be the first." He muttered, "Much as I know I'm going to regret it..."

"I heard that!"

"Starboard Engine fuel pressure?"

"Check!"

"Port Engine fuel pressure?"

"Check!"

"Starboard oil pressure?"

"Check!"

"Port oil pressure?"

"Check!"

"Landing gear?"

"Still welded to the bottom of the plane!"

"Just say check!"

"Check!"

"You gave in rather quickly," said Harv, feeling suspicion.

"Hey, I'm just the co-pilot! Subservient in every way. That, plus I'm a dog, so I know that I'm beta in this pack..."

"Right. Running lights?"

"Check!"

"If I ask you about the radio, am I going to regret it?"

"I think we already established who is the alpha male here."

"That's not an answer."

"Check!"

Harv sighed. "Radio?"

"Ooh! You're going to like this!" Vivaldi reached out and flipped a switch. A wall of chromosome damage level noise issued from the speakers. HArv's ears started bleeding and his tympanic membranes tried to crawl out through his nose.

"SHUT THAT OFF!" he shouted.

Thundering silence blessed the cockpit.

"What the Hell? I thought I said NO SKA!"

"No need to shout. That wasn't ska."

"I have to shout, I've been deafened. What was it then?"

"It's a new fusion. Hip hop and ska: Hip ska-p. Not ska at all..."

"I don't see how that's any worse than Death Baroque, but no one ever asks me my opinion," said the M.A.R.V.I.N.